


Speak Up

by Queenofthefaceless



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28090026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthefaceless/pseuds/Queenofthefaceless
Summary: Sandor just wants a peaceful evening and a peaceful bath, but he has an unsolicited visitor: Sansa Stark (BONUS: Sandor finally faces his greatest fear on this evening)
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Speak Up

Sansa betrays restlessness as she approaches the chambers she had been told belong to none other than the Hound himself.

Sandor Clegane’s chambers. A mysterious territory she was about to enter.

She much rather preferred his real name nowadays, she thought. For some reason she found it more appealing than anything else. It sounded familiar, comfortable and friendly. In truth, she found him quite captivating. A man with so much emotional damage that he no longer possessed the capacity to behave like a normal human being, but, in fact, a dog. A tormented, scarred and suffering man who never got the chance to address his emotions or even process them.

She knocked on the door and barely heard the baritone voice rasp “Come in”. And so she did, only to be welcomed by the image of Sandor Clegane bathing, perhaps expecting a maiden to help him of some sorts.

Upon seeing her, he rose slightly from the tub, eyes widening with shock and feeling the urge to cover himself, only there was no clothing item available nearby.

“What in seven hells are _you_ doing here??” he growled, eyes staring her down with anger and shock.

“I was asked to come find you.”

“At fucking midnight? Who the fuck – “

“The Queen. She believes you are ought to take reading lessons, as you already appeared to her as a very capable swordsman, and she had also asked me kindly to clean your wounds.”

Growling was seemingly part of Sandor’s personality now, which Sansa took as a defense mechanism and nothing more. She knew he was rough and cruel when he had to be, but he would not harm her, regardless of circumstances.

“I don’t need help, anyone’s help! _Your_ help! Get out!”

She shut the door behind her.

“No.”

“ _No?_ What’re you gonna do then? Read me bedtime stories of knights and fairies and pixie dust while I sit here looking like a fucking prune?”

“I need to remove your stitches. Do you know how to do that yourself?”

He didn’t respond with anything but lowering his head as if in embarrassment.

“Alright then,” she said, approaching the tub.

He gulped, fear consuming him. He would not let anyone come that close to him, especially when he was naked and on display. He watched her move much like a feather, slow and gentle, preparing utensils. He couldn’t feel a single heartbeat in his chest for several seconds. He could not feel his whole body at all. He was numb to the image of the young woman making a fuss over him.

“Why do I need to learn how to read? It’s not gonna make me kill people any better.”

“Is that what you enjoy doing most, killing?”

“There is nothing better or sweeter than kill – “

Sansa was met with silence on his behalf again, which surprised her to say the least. Nevertheless, she proceeded to remove his metal stitches one by one, careful not to tug his exposed and wet skin.

“You’re not afraid to look at me,” he remarked.

“Why would I?”

Sandor furrowed his brows.

“Used to be you couldn’t look at me.”

“That was a long time ago. Many things have changed, and I have seen much worse.”

“But I am still – I’m a tall fucker, a tall monster, with scars and – and – “

“You are too self-conscious, Sandor. You are not as half as bad as the so-called knights out there, claiming to be brave and noble. If you ask me, you are more knight than any of them.”

Sandor laughed out loud.

“A knight?! Are you out of your mind?! I’m the dog, I’ve always been the dog! A Hound, trained to kill!”

“You’re not.”

Sandor chuckled, unable to believe.

“You saw me murdering people. You saw me at my worst.”

She huffed whilst staring him down, hands no longer around the wounds.

“I don’t think so,” she shook her head.

He was feeling vulnerable still; he couldn’t look anywhere else but at her and how hard she tried to order her delicate hands to not touch his skin. He looked away in disbelief.

“I don’t need to read. Got by just fine without it.”

Sansa said nothing while preparing the ointment. She lingered for a brief moment, clearly hesitating.

“I have to – “she gestured towards the cuts.

Sansa knew how much he hated any human contact, how hard he tried to be hateful and to not let anyone around him too much. As he looked at her and then at the cuts, he seemed truly idled and puzzled, but he nodded all the same, thus showing her a sign of trust. Naturally, Sandor’s first instinct was to push away, to scare and be crude, but as the years went by, though not physically present, Sansa learned to understand and know him all too well to fall for the spectacle. She began cleaning the wounds one at a time, the only audible thing in the entire room were now his seemingly uncontrollable grunts and occasional curses, which she had grown accustomed to by then. It was his obvious pain that she was uncomfortable with.

“Sit still now,” she whispered.

“Aye, but it’s no easy job with all these fucking cuts over my chest.”

Sandor thought he saw her smile briefly, but he looked away. He was naked and the most gorgeous woman he had ever known was curing him without as much as a glance below his neck. He felt astounded by the strength that Sansa displayed; he never saw her like this. In all fairness, many years have passed between the last time he had seen her and now, and she was truly changed. Very much so, but the one item that seemed unchanged was _the way_ he saw her. The way he always did. Only this time, it felt different. More powerful than before.

Still avoiding her eyes and her graceful fingers grazing his skin immensely gently, there was a blend of pain and shame in his heart. Sandor replayed the previous sequences in his head over and over again. She had said his first name, seemingly humanizing him. He had finally been recognized as a man, he thought, a human being, not just an animal that the rest loved to push around and bully. He growled when he felt the wet cloth against his scarred skin, and his primal instinct kicked in, yelling at him to keep reacting that way at the person in front of him with the hope of scaring them away. 

But he didn’t do so, nor did Sansa move a single muscle aside her hands. She looked right at him or a brief moment, and as he hid his face from her again, she continued washing the wounds, almost freshly cleaned now.

“I know your answer to this, but… these cuts would heal a lot faster if I’d – if I’d burn them.”

Sandor turned towards her in a rush, face flushed and teeth ostensibly clenched.

“No.”

“Alright then.”

Sansa looked away again and continued her doing. Sandor noticed her rather disappointed look and although he fathomed she had only the best intentions as she always had, he could not do it. He simply couldn’t stand the mere thought of fire on his flesh, the sensation, the memories, the pain and the smell, let alone that breathtaking woman doing it. There they were, the two things he feared most now: fire and his undeniable affection for Sansa Stark. Affection which he preferred to take down in his grave with him rather than letting it surface. Yet he couldn’t pretend it was not real. It very much was, and it was slowly killing him.

He also knew all the implications, all the risks and whispers that would come, all the looks and stares - though he was never the man to give a single shit about people talking behind (or in front of) him. Hell, they did it all the time. But what of Sansa? She was a beautiful bird, a strong one at that, a woman meant to be something great, not to be aiding an injured brute.

“ _Get out,_ ” he rasped suddenly. 

“What?”

Sansa was taken aback by his brutal request. She failed to believe he would loathe her presence that much, especially not in that situation. He never seemed to be like that around her. Then again, there were years since they last met and Sansa feared her past helper and friend Sandor Clegane might have been too long gone to be reminisced.

“Why do you want me out?” she asked, voice coming down with disappointment. 

“I can’t stand being around you for this long.”

Sansa furrowed her brows. It couldn’t have been true.

“What have I done to you that you feel this way?”

“Even – even the way you say my name, so – so – _you’re killing me_.”

Sandor couldn’t bear to look at her and played with his big fingers. He was again terribly self-conscious about the way he was so on display for her to see, but not once did she even sneak a peek. She only looked at his face, almost desperate and begging him to return the look. When he failed to do so, she put the ointment down and gently stroked his cheek before he raised his eyes at last to meet her blue ones. There were so many features of Sandor Clegane she had grown quite fond of in such a short time span that it should have frightened her. And yet, it didn’t She gazed right into his chocolate eyes, eyes so sad underneath, and smiled lightly. 

“Don’t touch me,” he said, not fighting her touch though. 

His voice broke down a little, and Sansa felt so bad seeing him in such a low state of mind. She hadn’t seen him so fully exposed and vulnerable, so she was unsure as to how to approach him. She did know, however, that she wanted to be in that chamber and she wanted to be with him still.

And that was what frightened her.

“I’m – killing you?” she repeated softly with mistrust.

Sandor looked down in the tub slouching further down so that his large body would somehow be smaller, but Sansa failed to focus on anything else except his face anyway. She understood him much too well, so there was no need for the question.

But she had to ask. She simply had to.

Of all the people in the Seven Kingdoms, Sandor “The Hound” Clegane was the most troubled and incapable of human interaction of them all. And now, whilst being with her, talking to her, averting her eyes, he was much like gelatin in her hands.

“Why do you think I wanted to take you with me the night Blackwater burned? Why do you think I saved you whenever you needed saving?”

“I assumed… because you… had to. You were Joffrey’s protector,” Sansa’s voice trembled for the first time that night.

Sandor huffed in dismissal.

“That brat never cared for you, little bird. For any reason, be it emotional or political. He never asked me to keep you safe or watch over you. No Lannister ever did. I did.”

Sansa became distracted by Sandor’s chest. The way he was breathing in and out, attempting to calm himself down and not burst into a rage, it was awfully enticing and captivating. She looked away this time again as she remembered he was nude. So as to change the subject non-verbally, she grabbed one of his hands and caressed it, smiling kindly at him.

“Thank you for keeping me safe,” Sansa said.

“Didn’t do a good job.”

She knew what he was referencing but she gulped and passed it on as a foul memory meant to be lost.

“You protected Arya for quite some time as well. And you brought her to safety. For that I ought to be thanking you, Sandor.”

For a man his size, Sandor managed to blush a little and exhale, unaware he had been holding his breath until then. Sansa did notice his gestures and movements, surprised. Perhaps the Sandor she knew and cared for was still there.

She had the sudden urge to cup his cheek again, but Sandor caught her wrist, much gentler than she remembered. She gasped, her eyes locking with his.

 _“Burn the damn cuts,”_ he whispered.

Sansa’s eyes widened.

“Are – are you certain? It will hurt.”

She saw Sandor gulp, which only made her cup his cheek and pull him closer to her. She never saw him so up close, and she realized he never truly terrified her. At least not anymore. His scars were not as bad as she remembered back in the day and she found herself truly immersed and lost in the moment.

“Sansa – “

She trembled slightly upon hearing him call her by her first name. He said it with such insecurity and scare that Sansa couldn’t help herself; she couldn’t bear anymore the distance that had existed between them for far too long.

She pressed her lips against his; his rugged beard brushed a bit against her chin, but what really made Sansa shake and feel tingly all over was Sandor’s still wet hand lightly touching her neck, brushing her hair off of her shoulder. She hadn’t expected him to know how to react or even how to kiss - he must’ve been awfully touch-deprived and lacking affection ever since he was a little boy. Instead, Sandor surprised her as he pulled her in closer, deepening the kiss, and Sansa gladly responded. She did not stop until she heard Sandor’s grunt.

“You sure do know how to prepare a man for pain.”

Sansa smiled, accepting his strange idea of a compliment, and rushed to prepare the hot steel. She hesitated, but saw no objection from Sandor’s side.

“Do it now while I’m still in shock,” he tried to joke about it.

Sansa nodded along and, much to her surprise, Sandor grabbed her arm quite strongly, though still careful not to hurt her. Both gulped and within seconds, Sansa stuck the little hot iron to his first cut; her face squirmed when she heard him moan and curse under his breath, struggling as hard as he could not to scream or push her away.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts, I’ll be quick about it!” she apologized almost desperately.

“FUCKING HELLS IT HURTS!” he groaned.

“It’ll be just a minute now, just a minute… I don’t want to hurt you, Sandor, I promise… just a bit longer!”

He kept groaning, taking deep breaths in and out and stopping his complaints. His grip tightened a little, but Sansa endured. He must have been going through all kinds of hells, she thought. She rushed the process, burning the cuts and thus closing them, then she rubbed the ointment again over them, feeling the heat still on the tip of his fingers, along with his skin.

“It’s over, Sandor, it’s done. I’m done,” she kept saying.

She glanced at his face, seeing clear pain smeared all over it, but she thought she noticed a hint of sadness in his eyes as well. As soon as she finished rubbing the ointment, she put away the utensils and little containers and grazed the back of his hand with hers.

“I’m sorry.”

He did not even blink. He could barely breathe, though his breaths were thick with a mixture of pain and fear, yet he somehow felt a certain sadness as well, for which he could not detect its source. He only enjoyed the feeling of Sansa’s skin against his, which was a much lovelier feeling than what he had just experienced.

“Did you only kiss me to ease the pain?” his husky voice asked.

Sansa wavered, though the answer needn’t require much thinking at all.

“Partially.”

Sandor tilted his head and fixed her with his eyes, sadness fading away.

It was her, Sansa Stark, the most beautiful woman he ever saw, who was… _interested in him? In him?! Could it be?_

“Partially, you say.”

“I should… let you finish your bath and… sleep.”

Right as she stood up and prepared to leave, Sandor grabbed her wrist again, gently, gobbling in a very obvious way.

“I’m sorry for the fire,” Sansa whispered.

“I’d let you burn me a thousand times over, little bird. It’d hurt less than seeing you walk away.”

Taken aback by the rather flirty confession, Sansa’s cheeks got flushed right away; she licked her lips unconsciously and smiled gallantly.

“Sleep well, Sandor.”

“Goodnight, little bird. I’d, uh – see you to your chambers, but – “

Sansa giggled, which seemed to trigger the same reaction from Sandor.

“Thank you, but I’ll manage. I’ll see you for the reading lessons on the morrow.”

“Do you really want to be seen teaching a horribly looking dog?”

“You’ve always been more than that to me.”

Sansa smiled briefly before exiting his chambers, thus leaving Sandor with the biggest, goofiest smile on his face. He failed to recall the last time when he had smiled genuinely like that.


End file.
